If I make it out of Here Alive I get a Kitten for my Troubles

     If I make it out of here alive I get a kitten for my troubles.

     That is if my car doesn’t get stolen first and I have a car to scamper back to and make my getaway with this cute little tabby girl of mine.
     I’m sitting in a waiting room in the ghetto and I’m pretty sure everyone in here is talking in Spanish about the girl in muddy running shoes holding the cat carrier.
     The pit bull on the leash next to me is growling at me none stop and I’m pretty sure he is mistaking my smell of sweat, sunscreen and Deet for a delicious, delicious human treat straight from the ghetto.
     It should have been a easy afternoon errand picking up my newly spade kitten from the vet.
     The problem with my simple afternoon would be the free spay comes from a vet in the ghetto.
     Bear, the pit bull terrified of the vet, is now being drug across the floor and is in full on fright mode, whimpering and cowering and its kind of funny.
     Not so brave are we now huh?
     Not only is this veterinary clinic full of terrifying beasts but it was also a bitch to get to.
     There are only four parking spots in their lot and I was super close to parking illegally in front of the front door as the only other parking was half a mile away, on the main street and next to a prostitute.
     Have I mentioned I am in the worst section (but really how could you choose just one!) of San Bernardino?
     I was idling in the suicide lane in the middle of the street trying to decide if my car was safer next to the crack whore or in front of the skinny sore oozing dude who would surely try to sell me meth when miraculously a car left the veterinary clinic and one itty bitty spot opened up and I some how wedged my SUV into it, grabbing the cat carrier and sprinting into the cool air conditioning of the building as I imagined crack heads coming after me like zombies in some movie, waving hands full of crack in the air.
    Can you tell I really wanted that kitten?

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